


The Art of Dreaming

by Penn_Dragon



Category: Welcome to Hell - All Media Types
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, C. Combs is mentioned once, Canon Compliant, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, its not really violent its just... a lot of blood, lots of dream analysis, only tagged violence because of one scene, some lowkey dream horror, some of it is solid and some of it i kind of warped to fit the plot, weird dream stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 16:38:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15610488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penn_Dragon/pseuds/Penn_Dragon
Summary: Sock develops the ability to haunt Jonathan’s dreams. He should use this power to torment him, but things become a little more difficult when he realizes Jonathan’s subconscious is a lot less tight-lipped.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my (fashionably late) entry for the W2H Big Bang 2018! Many thanks to the-fandom-dork and dapper-boy for being my artists, it was a pleasure working with you! Check out their stuff [here](https://the-fandom-dork.tumblr.com/post/176429614233/for-the-past-few-months-ive-been-a-part-of) and [here](https://www.deviantart.com/casual-sans/art/Welcome-To-Hell-BigBang-758031112).  
> Enjoy!

Sock didn’t spend all of his time at Jonathan’s house. He probably would if he could, but he’d learned the hard way that Jonathan gets  _ really _ pissy if you keep him up for 42 hours straight. So at night Sock came back to his little home in Hell. Well, he called it a home, it was really more like a dorm room. He had to walk down a long hallway lined with other rooms to get there, yet he never seemed to encounter anyone, he wasn’t sure why. The inside was pretty much just an empty room, there was no kitchen or bathroom, it’s not like he had much use for either, being dead and all. There was a little TV in the corner where he could watch live broadcasts of various torture chambers in Hell. He didn’t use it for that often though, stabbing is kind of boring if you’re not the one doing it, but if he wiggled the antennas just right it would pick up the occasional signal from Earth. Of course, it was usually filler episodes or foreign soap operas with no subtitles.

The only other thing in the room was a little bed pushed against one of the walls. Sock didn’t really sleep anymore, but it was hard to shake the feeling that he needed to. Old habits die hard he supposed. Mephistopheles said the urge to sleep would disappear after a while, he’d still get tired, but eventually he’d learn to ignore it. Until then, the little bed was there for him to use. He couldn’t actually fall asleep, but he could kinda doze if he tried hard enough. 

It was in this sort of half aware state one night after Jonathan kicked him out that something weird happened. He was lightly dozing, curled up in a blanket. There was no way to pinpoint the passage of time in Hell but it would have been pretty late back on earth. Suddenly, he was standing in a house wide awake and definitely not in Hell. He looked around for a second and realized it was Jonathan’s house. Specifically, he was standing in the middle of Jonathan’s kitchen, and there was rich afternoon light pouring in every window. 

Anyway he looked at it, this was definitely Jonathan’s kitchen, but Sock couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a little bit off. The sunlight was just a little too perfect, and the pictures on the fridge kept changing. Suddenly it dawned on him; this was a dream. 

It couldn’t be his dream though, he hadn’t had a dream since he killed himself. You can’t really dream if you don’t sleep. Besides, there wasn’t nearly enough blood for this to be one of his dreams. He had a weird prickly feeling in the back of his neck, like he wasn’t meant to be there, like he was trespassing. This dream had to belong to someone and Sock had a pretty good idea of who. 

As if on cue, the door to the kitchen swung open and Jonathan padded in. His eyes swept over Sock completely, as if he were empty air, and moved to open the fridge. 

Jonathan couldn’t see him. 

Sock floated a little bit closer as Jonathan rummaged around in the fridge, he looked a little different than how he usually did, a little younger maybe. He apparently didn’t find what he was looking for in the fridge because he grunted and closed the door. He peeled a post-it note off of the door that was complete gibberish when Sock looked at it a minute before. Now it was a grocery list and a note from his mom, complete with a little heart. Sock tried to read it over his shoulder, but the letters kept rearranging themselves. Jonathan seemed to understand it though because he tucked the list into his pocket and moved towards the door. Sock followed him, floating closely behind, because he didn’t know what else to do. 

The second they stepped out the door, Jonathan’s house melted away and in its place was a quiet grocery store. As he peered around the normal, everyday produce isle, Sock couldn’t help but think that Jonathan dreamt about really mundane things. He couldn’t remember ever having a dream this quiet and routine. Of course he’d been repressing murderous impulses his whole life, so maybe most people  _ did  _ dream like this. 

It was kind of strange watching Jonathan going about his daily business like this. Sock spent nearly every day following Jonathan around but it wasn’t like this. He looked so relaxed, turning apples over in his hands so he could check for bruises, like he didn’t think anyone was watching him right now, so he could breath for a bit. Sock leaned forward, drinking it in. This was Jonathan’s mind at it’s most open, he couldn’t hide anything in here. It made Sock feel a little uneasy, like he was spying. He wished he could step outside to collect his thoughts but he wasn’t sure what would happen if he left. This was Jonathan’s dream, did anything here exist if he wasn’t a part of it? Sock turned back to Jonathan, who had started quietly humming to himself, and swallowed. So he was in Jonathan’s dream. Now how in Earth did he get out? 

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Sock jerked into a sitting position back in hell. Sock shook his head as the strange invasive sensation faded. That was weird. That was  _ really _ weird.

\---

Sock knocked hesitantly on the door to Mephistopheles’ office. There was a muffled rustling sound before his boss’ voice shouted to come inside. Sock slid through the door to see Meph writing incessantly next to a literal mountain of paperwork piled on top of his desk. Sock wasn’t entirely sure if Meph actually had to do all the paperwork he seemed to be constantly working on, or if it was just some kind of self-torture he didn’t realize he could stop. Meph looked up from his paperwork for a second to smile at Sock.

“Hey kiddo, what’s up?”

Sock sat down in the opposite chair and Meph’s desk and folded his hands in his lap. 

“I wanted to ask you; something weird happened last night.”

Meph set down his pen and linked his fingers together, giving Sock his full attention.

“Alright, shoot.”

Sock fidgeted a little, trying to figure out how to explain what had happened. He still wasn’t entirely sure it was what he thought it was.

“Well, last night. I think I ended up in one of Jonathan’s dreams? Everything was all weird and shifty, and it felt like I was there and not there at the same time, and Jonathan couldn’t see me.” Sock placed his palms face down on the desk after he realized he’d started gesturing with them. 

One of Meph’s eyebrows lifted.

“Really?”

Sock shifted in the chair. He really wasn’t sure that’s what happened, but he couldn’t think of any other explanation. Besides, he really wanted to know how to do it again.

“I’m pretty sure.”

Meph leaned forward, propping his head up on one hand and drumming his fingers against the smooth wood.

“Not gonna lie kid that’s pretty weird. I mean, it’s normal for demons to haunt dreams—psychological torment and all—but you usually wouldn’t get that power until your 6th or 7th job.”

“So this isn’t normal then?”

“No, but I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” Mephistopheles picked his pen back up and resumed his paperwork, scratching quick signatures onto them and tossing them behind him where they fluttered over to tuck themselves neatly into the correct file seemingly of their own will. “It was probably just a fluke, won’t happen again.” 

Sock was a little surprised by the trickle of disappointed he felt. Ending up in someone else’s dream was jarring, but he also felt like he’d missed a chance to learn something. Jonathan was so tight-lipped, getting him to talk was like pulling out teeth. Dreams were supposed to be your subconscious talking to you, right? If it probably won’t happen again then he probably won’t get another chance.

“If it does, come back and let me know.”

\---

It happened again. 

They were watching TV after school, some show Sock didn’t know or care about. Jonathan drifted off on the couch, one arm across his stomach and the other awkwardly pinned between his body and the back of the couch. Sock watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, barely a movement at all, and the way the light from the TV bleached the color from his skin like there was no blood left. Was this what it would be like? When Jonathan killed himself? A car insurance commercial began playing in the background.

Sock leaned forward, acutely aware that Jonathan had asked him (yelled at him) to quit watching him sleep, but he couldn’t help it. Jonathan turned over in his sleep, eyelids fluttering and suddenly he wasn’t in Jonathan’s living room anymore.

One second he was there, and the next he was standing on a beach. He blinked and shook his head a little, that same feeling of wrongness was buzzing in the back of his skull and it made everything feel weird, like he’d just downed a pot of coffee and his body was trying to keep up with the caffeine. Plus he was starting to sweat from the heat of the sun pressing down on him. 

Wait. The sun, he could feel the sun. 

He looked up, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the sun was hot and intense in the way that would give him a sunburn if he were alive. Could you get sunburnt in a dream? He didn’t want to find out. He scanned the beach, sliding his fingers around his scarf to unwind it from around his neck. It really was hot. 

The beach was empty for miles, he couldn’t see any people on the sand or in the water. There weren’t even any signs that someone used to be here. No towels, no sandcastles, no footprints, it was completely deserted. So, he thought, where was Jonathan? There was a little outcropping of rock a ways down the beach casting shadows across the sand. He kicked up his feet and hovered uncertainty in the air for a moment. He could still float.

As he got closer he realized the outcropping of rocks was a bunch of little tidepools. Some were only a couple feet wide and others were large enough to swim in. 

It was Jonathan, sitting on a rock with his headphones on, staring into one of the tide pools. He didn’t seem to notice that he wasn’t alone anymore, so Sock called out to him, just in case. But Jonathan didn’t turn his head, didn’t even tense a muscle like he would when he was actively trying to ignore someone. He just continued staring into the tide pool like it held the secrets to life itself. Jonathan still couldn’t see him.

Sock floated over. There wasn’t anything particularly special about the tide pool, he saw a couple minnows dart by, and a couple of clam holes, but overall it was just an empty tide pool. There were plenty of other pools that had a lot more going on, so he had no idea why Jonathan picked this one. He leaned forward and waved a hand in front of Jonathan's face, but his gaze didn’t break from the tidepool. 

“Why don’t you get a closer look?” He asked out loud, just because he could. “Stick your hands in, get messy?” But Jonathan didn’t answer. For moment Sock wondered if Jonathan was experiencing things in this dream that he couldn’t. Something deeper in his subconscious, like  _ Inception _ , but he wasn’t sure. 

As he watched, Jonathan plucked up a piece of dry seaweed from the stones and began to tear it into strips almost absentmindedly. He got the feeling there wasn’t going to be much more to this dream. 

“I’m bored,” he told the dream, “Jonathan, you’re boring.”

To amuse himself, he went to peer into the other tidepools, there had to be cooler stuff there, like a sea urchin… or an octopus! But the other pools had nothing, less than nothing, no fish, no urchins, no bottoms like a video game that hasn’t fully loaded yet. Jonathan’s pool, however, trucked on, like the very fact that Jonathan was looking at it gave it the energy to exist. 

He came back and crouched next to his human, tilting his head to the side to get a better look at his face. With nothing better to do Sock reached out and batted his shoulder, as he was expecting, his hand went straight through Jonathan. What he wasn’t expecting was for Jonathan to shudder harshly and snap his head up. As he moved the world around them grew fuzzy like someone had erased the outlines and all the color was draining away. The ground slipped out beneath him and he had a sensation like standing on top of a really high cliff, or swimming out into the middle of the ocean and looking down to only to see miles of water beneath you, then he was back perched on the edge of the couch.

Jonathan sat bolt upright, blinking awareness back into his eyes. He swung his feet to settle on the ground and focused on Sock. He blinked again.

“Did… Did you just…?” Sock tilted his head to the side trying to look innocent.

“What?” Jonathan shook his head.

“Nothing.” He rubbed at the spot on his shoulder where Sock smacked him. “Just a weird dream.

\---

Once 5:00 PM rolled around Sock left Jonathan listening to music on his bed so he could report back to Mephistopheles about the dream. Meph looked perplexed and Sock hadn’t been a demon for long but he could guess that didn’t happen often.

“Hm.” Meph scratched his cheek, staring up at the ceiling like he was considering a whole bunch of things at once. Eventually, he lowered his eyes back down to Sock, then spun around in his chair to start rummaging through one of the many file cabinets lining the wall behind him. “Apparently,” he said not bothering to turn around while he talked, “this isn’t gonna stop, so we might as well make sure you’re prepped to handle it if it happens again.” When he found what he was looking for he slid it onto the desk and started scribbling away, still talking as he wrote. “I’m gonna send you to another demon, a specialist of sorts. His name’s Damien MacAisling and he’s an expert at dream torture.” Sock took the note. Meph’s handwriting was curly and precise like calligraphy. It looked like a sort of reference, like a doctor’s note or office meeting.

“Dream torture?” He looked up at Meph.

“Yeah ya’ know,” he waved a hand vaguely, “getting inside someone’s head and using their fears against them or whatever. I don’t know that much about it,” he shrugged, “don’t dream, but this guy is an expert.” He tapped the note and Sock was drawn to the name again. “He’s not very friendly, but not many demons are so just keep your nose down and he’ll help you out.”

Sock left the office slowly, not really sure what to think. Honestly he was just confused. He was still pretty new to this whole demon thing and if Meph didn’t know what was going on with him what chance was there that anyone else would? Meph seemed to think Damien MacAinsling would. The note had an office number on it and an appointment time, hopefully he’d get some answers.


	2. Chapter 2

Sock looked at the paper.

The door of this office was shabby and chipped, much less official looking than Mephistopheles’ office. There was a quiet but rythmic noise coming from inside, he had no idea what that meant. The wood was rough against his knuckles as he knocked and the hinges squeaked horribly when a gruff voice barked at him to come in.

The demon sitting inside was old. He only looked around 40 but Sock could feel the power radiating off him like a physical pressure pressing him back towards the door.  Damien MacAinsling was standing to the side of his office in front of a large bookshelf, he looked human, but Sock would wager a guess he could look a lot more demonic if he wanted to. Pale blue eyes turned to glare at him and he got the feeling he was being intimidated. MacAinsling turned back to the bookshelf and skimmed his hand over the covers more aggressively.

“Doesn’t Mephistopheles know I have better things to do than babysit.” He grabbed a book off the shelf and tossed it onto his desk with a loud thunk. Sock wasn’t sure if he was supposed to answer or not. MacAinsling glared at him again, another book in his hand, and jabbed a finger at the chair in front of his desk. “Sit.”

Sock stumbled over and collapsed into the chair tucking his hands up next to his chest to fiddle with the end of his scarf. The noise was still present, louder now, a kind of ticking. He glanced around the office and his eyes settled on a bookshelf towards the back of the office. There were about three whole shelves filled with small standing clocks, each one sat above a label with different letters — BST, EST, CST — he realized bemusedly they were time zones. That explained the ticking sound. MacAinsling slid into his own chair, looking him up and down.

“Let me get this straight,” he started, gesturing at Sock with the book in his hand. “You — a powerless nobody — somehow managed to start haunting your target’s dreams, despite the fact that this is a high level technique it takes most demons decades to unlock.” He spoke with a vague accent Sock couldn’t quite place — maybe Irish? — but it had that lilt to it that most older demons had.

“Uh —” Sock answered dumly, “Yes?”

“Uhuh, and when did this start?”

“Two days ago, earth time.”

He was quiet for a moment, tapping his finger against his desk.

“Well if I had to guess, this is some kind of fluke. You somehow managed to cheat your way into this power.” Sock opened his mouth to protest but MacAinsling cut him off. “I don’t care if or how you did it. I care about what that means for the power itself. 

“I doubt you’ll be able to control when you enter your target’s dreams. You may have some rudimentary control over what goes on inside, but probably not. The best you can do is use the information you find in there to your advantage.” He held up the book he’d been holding so Sock could read the cover. It had  _ A Study in Dream Haunting _ printed across the cover in weathered gold text. “This is a book I wrote on the process of dream haunting. Much of the information in here will be useless on you, but there are multiple sections in here on the interpretation of a subject’s dreams. Step one of dream haunting is identifying the subjects weaknesses to use against them.” He slid the book across the desk to Sock. “I expect you to read up.”

Sock picked up the book in his fingertips, like it might fall apart if he handles it too roughly and Damian MacAinsling would bite his head off. This was a lot of information to soak up at once, and now he had homework. He thought he was done with homework when he died.

“Won’t Jonathan notice if i’m messing around in his dreams every night?” he asked. MacAinsling rolled his eyes.

“Unless you disturb the dream in a way that’s different from how he normally dreams, he won’t notice a thing.”

“What if I can’t go into his dream again?” MacAinsling stared hard at him and set his head in his hand, fingers tapping thoughtfully against his cheek. His eyes flashed white for a moment and Sock had a sudden shock of feeling exposed like he was naked, he had to resist the urge to curl in on himself.

“As far as I can tell, you’re somehow linked to his dream cycle. When he goes to sleep, you’ll be pulled into his dreams.”

“ _ All _ of them?”

“Yes,  _ all  _ of them. The link is… strange. I’m not really sure what it is or how it got there, but for whatever reason your energy is linked to his subconscious. 

“It may go away on its own or it may not. You might as well make use of it while it’s here.”

So much for answering all his questions. MacAinsling could tell him  _ what  _ was happening but couldn’t tell him  _ why _ . Which was only a little less frustrating than knowing nothing at all.

“So I could just keep ending up in his dreams for… forever?”

MacAinsling shrugged.

“No way of knowing for sure, I’ll keep an eye on it but I don’t know what to tell you, kid.” 

Maybe that everything would be alright, that this was a good opportunity and not something to worry about. Besides Mephistopheles, everyone in Hell was pretty… cold. Sock sighed and stood up pulling the book to his chest. 

“Thank you for the help, Sir.” He said, still feeling the need to be polite. When MacAinsling inclined his head he left the office.

\---

It was probably close to 7:00 AM on Earth and Jonathan would be getting ready for school. He would be falling asleep again for hours so there was no point in staying in Hell. He tucked the book under his arm and headed up towards the portal to earth. 

Jonathan was still asleep when he got back. The alarm clock on his nightstand flashed 6:26 AM, it would go off in a couple minutes. There was nothing to really do until then so Sock sat on the edge of Jonathan’s bed and watched him sleep. Maybe it was a little bit creepy but his job wasn’t to respect social boundaries. When Jonathan was asleep the frown smoothed off his face, it was the only time he looked completely relaxed, the way he’d looked in the dream. He leaned a little closer, Jonathan wasn’t dreaming, otherwise he would get sucked in, so it must be a light sleep just dozing a little more before he has to get up. 

He must have made a noise, or shifted in some way, because the next second blue eyes were open and glaring at him. 

“Sock.” Jonathan’s voice was still rough from sleep and he hissed Sock’s name like a swear word and… It was kind of hot if he was being honest.

“What it’s time for you to get up anyway.”

Jonathan sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, the comforter pooled around his waist.

“That’s not- I told you to stop watching me sleep.” 

Sock grinned.

“It’s not my job to do what you want.”

Jonathan growled and stood up, stalking out of the room. A couple seconds later he heard the shower start up down the hall. Jonathan would be gone for at least fifteen minutes. 

He pulled the book out from its hiding place behind his back and flipped it open to the first page. It had copywriter information, and publication numbers. Did… Did Hell have a publishing agency? Or maybe MacAinsling was just very thorough. He turned passed the next couple introductory pages until he found a table of contents. MacAinsling said he’d probably only need the chapters in dream interpretation, so he’d start there. The part he was looking for was in Chapter 5, right after “How Not to Get Stuck Between Dreams and Reality” maybe he should read that next.

He flipped pages until he found the right chapter: “Dreams and their meanings.” He settled into Jonathan’s bed and began to read.

_ The images seen inside dreams aren’t always concrete like those in literature. Dreams are a reflection of a human’s subconscious and as such are generally personal to the human. The meaning of an image can change depending on their significance to the human dreaming. _

Sock grimaced, that didn’t sound very helpful.

_ Each demon aspiring to begin dream torture needs to remember that the mind influences the image, not the other way around. The mind constructs a message with images that give the human an certain emotion, therefore they are more likely to pick on the message. Due to this there are often overlaps in the images seen in different dreams. A person’s house is comforting to them and it’s where people spend most of their time, so within a dream a house can be representative of a person’s identity, thoughts and ideas, interpersonal relationships, etc. If the house is empty and run down it could mean that person is neglecting themself and their relationships, if it’s spotless and warm it may show personal growth and happiness. _

He continued reading until Jonathan came back to the room and the throughout the day anytime Jonathan had his back turned. MacAinsley documented a lot of things about dreams how they worked, what they meant, there was even a little dictionary of common symbols you might see. He wondered how long this took to write. 

_ The first step to dream haunting is observation. You must observe everything around you no matter how insignificant it may seem at the time. Dreams have the unique effect of making even the most odd things seem normal. The dreamer may not notice the environment constructed around them but you can make use of it- _

“What are you reading?” Sock jolted at the sudden voice. Jonathan was staring at him head propped up on his hand as the teacher droned on in the background. 

“Nothing!” He answered too quickly. The from bored to suspicious in Jonathan’s expression was subtle, just in the stretch of his mouth, but Sock knew he was planning something. Jonathan lunged for the book just as Sock pulled back, only managing to skim his fingers along the edge. It was enough to knock the book from his hands where it tumbled to the floor. 

“Jonathan!” The shrill call had them both snapping their attention to the front of the room where Jonathan’s teacher was glaring down her nose at him. “What on  _ Earth  _ are you doing?”

Jonathan sat back, his ears going red. Sock scooped the book back up and hugged it to his chest.

“Uh,” he waved his hand a little in Sock’s direction, “there was a fly… annoying me.” Sock pursed his lips, but didn’t say anything. He wasn't sure if Jonathan had seen anything when the book fell open. This could be bad.

“Well try to focus more on the lesson and less on watching insects.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Jonathan spent the rest of the class period silently fuming. Sock wasn’t sure what he was mad at, the teacher, the situation, or him. When the class bell rang he packed his things and headed out into the hall without saying a word. Sock followed him, a cocktail of bad feelings brewing in his stomach. It wasn’t until they reached Jonathan’s locker that he finally spoke again.

“What was that weird book?” He glanced at Sock as he pulled out his history book. “It didn’t have anything in it.”

That caught him off guard. Jonathan didn’t see what was inside the book, or… couldn’t see. The relief that flowed through Sock was palpable, he tried not to let it show on his face.

“It’s… kind of a journal.” He lied, trying to look more embarrassed than nervous. “My boss told me I should write, you know, updates and stuff. How I think I’m doing and all that.” Jonathan stared at him for a moment longer and he tried not to squirm. Finally he just zipped up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder.

“Hope he’s ready to be disappointed.” There was a smirk on his face as he walked off leaving Sock to gape in the aftermath.

“Hey! You take that back!”

\---

Sock left while Jonathan was eating dinner. The closer he got to sleeping the more nerve wracking it was. Jonathan would definitely figure out something was up, and then he’d be suspicious for the rest of the evening. Sock didn’t really know how this dream stuff worked but he figured it might be harder to get in if Jonathan is on guard, and he really wanted to make this work.

He wasn’t really sure why. Honestly Jonathan’s dreams seemed pretty boring and existing inside a dream while aware of it was a very odd sensation. Meph and Damien MacAinsling both thought this was a good opportunity, like he’d learn something from it, but he wasn’t so sure. There was no guarantee he’d learn anything about Jonathan from this, he wasn’t even sure  _ why  _ it was happening. He also felt a little guilty snooping around inside Jonathan’s head. Yet at the same time, something about it was weirdly appealing. Jonathan was pretty much a closed book, he didn’t offer any information about himself and Sock had a lot of trouble dragging it out of him. This was an opportunity to get some information directly from Jonathan’s subconscious. Maybe it was a little invasive, but he’d also irritated Jonathan for about an hour the other day by making spooky noises and changing the water temperature while he was in the shower. So Sock spent the evening wandering around hell, visiting the endless razor pits and bubbling tar lakes until he figured it was late enough for Jonathan to be asleep. 

Jonathan’s house was completely dark when Sock got there. It was probably close to two in the morning so both Jonathan and his mom should be asleep. Sock peaked through Jonathan’s door to make sure he wasn’t up doing homework before he phased all the way through. The room was dark enough that he could only see the faint outline of Jonathan asleep on his bed, breathing quiet and rhythmic. Sock floated over and sat down on the edge of the bed. Okay so he’d just pop into Jonathan’s dreams again, look around for a bit and then leave, no big deal. The only problem was he had no idea how to do any of that. 

MacAinsling said that he’d get pulled inside of Jonathan’s dreams whenever he fell asleep. Yet here he was, still outside. Sock flopped back against the wall and settled himself down, half hoping he’d just suddenly pop into Jonathan’s subconscious. Instead he just ended up staring at boring grey ceiling for about five minutes. Exactly how long was this going to take. 

He leaned back to see Jonathan’s face. Even while sleeping Jonathan didn’t look completely relaxed. It was totally different than when he was awake, but there was still a little crease between his eyebrows, like he was put out by something even while asleep. Nothing like he’d looked in his dream. Maybe that was just something about dreams, they can trick even Jonathan into feeling safe and relaxed. In the back of his mind Sock wished that he could still dream. He reached over to touch Jonathan instinctively, to try and smooth out the line on his forehead, but the second his hand would have made contact, the whole room melted away. 

He was standing in the back of one of Jonathan’s classrooms. There were only a few other people in the room, c ounting the teacher at the front of the class , Jonathan was sitting in the corner hunched over his desk. When Sock floated over to him and peered at the paper he was glaring at. It looked like he was working on a test, and by the way he was frustratedly chewing on the end of his pen, not doing a very good job on it. 

“You know you could just cheat.” Sock whipped his head up, and was shocked to see himself leaning over Jonathan’s desk. Jonathan just glared harder at his test, clearly aware that the other Sock was there. Sock felt a little thrill go through him,  _ Jonathan was dreaming about him _ . He didn’t even have to  _ do  _ anything and he was already here. Dream Sock hopped up on Jonathan’s desk, forcing him to sit back. “The teacher’s not even in here,” he wiggled his fingers, “you could just peek at your notes really quick and no one would know.”  A quick glance around the room confirmed that the teacher was actually missing, although Sock was sure she was there when he came in. Jonathan made a noise under his breath.

“You’re just trying to get me in trouble.” Dream Sock shook his head, swinging his legs back and forth under the desk.

“Nah not really, I’d help you out but I’m no good at math.” Sock was actually pretty good at math, it was one of his strong points in school. Jonathan’s subconscious was just assuming he wasn’t and Sock wasn’t sure whether to be offended or entertained. Actually, looking closer at his dream-self, it wasn’t a perfect copy in the slightest, the freckles on his arms were wrong and Sock could count four scars off the bat that were missing. This was just Jonathan’s best reconstruction of him.

Part of Sock wanted to step in and see what would happen if he  _ could  _ help Jonathan finish the test, the other part just wanted to watch and see what happened. This Sock was basically a Sock made from the way Jonathan viewed him and he had to admit he was curious.

Sock took this moment to look around the dreams, try to “catalogue” things like the book told him to. He was in school, that was… boring, taking a test… more boring, but what did that  _ mean _ . Jonathan didn’t like tests. He already knew that though, nobody likes tests. He squinted trying to force meaning into what he saw. There were four other people in the room — wait — three, the teacher was gone. The teacher disappeared maybe that was something.  _ He  _ was here… that had to mean something. Didn’t it?

Sock nearly jumped out of his skin when the school bell rang signalling the end of the period. Jonathan growled at his test and Dream Sock snickered, obviously he didn’t finish. The bell hadn’t stopped ringing. Sock grimaced and hunched his shoulders trying to block out the sound. Did school bells usually last this long? He hadn’t been in school for a while but he was pretty sure they just rang and were done, this bell keeped repeating its ring. Starting then pausing, then starting, then pausing. It didn’t even really sound like a school bell, it sounded like… an alarm.

Sock was snapped out of Jonathan’s dream so abruptly he reeled and almost fell off the back of the bed. Jonathan groaned from where he was tucked beneath his blanket and rolled over to slap the snooze button on his alarm clock. Blissful silence fell back over the room as Jonathan’s hand slid back under the blanket, it gave Sock a second to compose himself. He felt a little off, like he wasn’t quite all here yet. He shook himself to get rid of it. Weird dream hangover aside he still needed to mess with Jonathan, if only to keep the impression that nothing was different. 

He hopped off the bed and made his way towards the front, crouching down to be eye level with Jonathan. As if on cue, Jonathan’s eyes opened and he slipped into a scowl.

“Is this going to become a regular thing with you?” Sock just grinned. Jonathan rolled over in his bed, obviously hoping to get a little more shut eye before he had to get up. Not on his watch.

“Rise and shine, Sunshine. You got a whole miserable day of school ahead of you.” When he got no answer he just continued. “Jonathan. Hey, Jonathan.” 

“Isn’t it a little early for you to be fucking with me.” Came the grumbled reply from beneath the covers. 

“It’s never too early to fuck with anyone, Jonathan, especially you.” Again there was no answer, so instead of talking Sock leaned forward, pursed his lips and blew on the back of Jonathan’s neck. This seemed to be the last straw as Jonathan whipped the pillow out from beneath him and chucked it in Sock’s direction. It passed harmlessly through him and knocked into a the desk across the room, sending a stack of books toppling to the floor. Jonathan stared at the mess for a moment.

“Everything okay up there, Honey?” His mom’s voice called, she hadn’t left for work yet. Sock snickered, a lot like how dream him snickered when Jonathan couldn’t finish his test. Real Jonathan glared at him.

“I just dropped some books.” He yelled back and tossed the blanket off his legs. Sock giggled once more as he stalked over to pick up the books.

“Screw you.” Jonathan hissed, casting one more glare over his shoulder and stalking out of the room, leaving Sock with a comeback poised on his tongue. 

_ Well if you’re offering. _

_ \--- _

The day was pretty uneventful after that, Jonathan mostly ignored him and Sock mostly kept quiet, still just pondering over what he might have learned from that dream, what he might have missed. It wasn’t until Jonathan’s sixth period Algebra class that Sock really tuned back in. 

There were some example projected on the board that Jonathan and the rest of the class seemed to be working on. Jonathan was chewing on the end of his pencil looking bored and frustrated at the same time. Sock glanced over his shoulder to look at the problem he was glaring at, his work was completely wrong.

“You need to simplify what’s in the parenthesis before you try to factor out any of the variables.” Jonathan gave him a look out of the corner of his eye. “I’m good at math.” The look persisted. 

Sock shrunk back feeling his cheeks heat up, fiddling with his fingers. There was a quiet sigh and he looked back up. Jonathan was still watching him, tapping his pencil against the desk. He nodded his head slightly to the right, gesturing for Sock to come back. A little thrill ran up his spine and he rushed forward into Jonathan’s space pointing out all the numbers and symbols and explaining why they did what they did. And if Jonathan thought it was familiar he didn’t say anything.


	3. Chapter 3

“So,” MacAinsling looked up from his paperwork just long enough to gesture at Sock with his pen, “did you visit his dreams?” Sock picked at the edge of the desk, the surface was falling off, revealing it was actually cheap laminate underneath. Of course Hell wouldn’t have real wooden desks. He wondered if that was to create a sense of shabbiness, or if it was just a fire hazard.

“Yeah… I did.”

MacAinsling looked up at him again.

“But?”

“But I didn’t learn anything about him!” He burst out, frustration from the night before leaking forward. “Other than he thinks I’m bad at math… which I’m not,” he added as an afterthought. MacAinsling sighed, sliding his paperwork aside. 

“That’s just because you don’t know what you're looking for. Tell me about the dream.” And he did, he told him about the test and the dream version of him teasing Jonathan and the disappearing teacher. MacAinsling was quiet for a moment after he finished. He pulled open one of the side drawers of his desk and took out a notepad, flipping open to a random page in the middle. “Did he seem particularly stressed taking the test?” He asked. 

“No, not really.” Jonathan rarely got frazzled, even in his own dreams. The only thing that really seemed to get to him was Sock. MacAinsling started at him for a moment, pale eyes hard and Sock swallowed passed a dry mouth.

“Tests are a stressful event for most humans, so when they show up in dreams it usually signals some kind of problem in their life. The teacher disappearing indicates that it’s a problem other people, particularly the authority figures in his life, can’t see or don’t have a hand in. Given that you were in the dream haunting him it’s probably safe to assume the problem is you.” Sock’s eyebrows shot up, the entire dream was about him? Really? Jonathan had a problem with him? A little smile crept onto his face, maybe he’s not so bad at his job after all. “But,” MacAinsling emphasized, Sock didn’t like the sound of that ‘but’, “the fact that he didn’t seem overly stressed taking the test means it’s a small problem that he doesn’t consider that big of a deal.” MacAinsling’s eyes bore into him. “Which, for a demon, is not what you want to hear.”

Sock could feel his face getting hot with embarrassment. MacAinsling eyed him for a moment like he was waiting for an excuse but Sock didn’t have one. Maybe he did suck at his job. 

“You need to look closer, at  _ all  _ the variables.” Sock wilted a little in relief as he changed the subject. “You’re reading my book correct? The chapter on dream interpretation?”

“Yeah.” Sock went back to picking at the lacquer revealing more of the flaking laminate. “It’s just a lot of information to absorb, I can’t remember it all.” 

A pale hand clamped over his, peeling his fingers away from the desk. When he looked up MacAinsling just rolled his eyes.

“You don’t need to memorize every little thing in there right away. You have the book. If you have it one your when your victim falls asleep it’ll enter the dream with you.” Sock took his hand back, MacAinsling’s skin was cold in an unpleasant way.

“Really?”

MacAinsling nodded.

“Huh.” He thought about that for a second, it sure would be a lot easier if he could just look up what was going on. 

“Do you need anything else?” MacAinsling’s lips were pressed tight like he was trying very hard to not just kick Sock out of his office by force. “I have some important work to get back to and your human counterpart will probably be asleep soon.” Sock followed his gaze to the shelf near the back of the office where all the clocks sat. The one labeled CST read 10:49PM.

“Um, no, I’m good.” He stood up quickly. “Thank you, sir.” He snatched the book from in front of him and rushed out of the office before he could irritate MacAinsling anymore.

Jonathan would be going to bed any minute now. Any moment Sock could be pulled into another one of his dreams. He clutched the book a little closer to his chest and something like anticipation coiled in his stomach. Any minute now.

\---

Sock blinked. He was sitting in the passenger’s seat of a car driving steadily down an empty highway. It was night, and it was so dark he could barely see anything past the dull yellow stream of light from the headlights. Dark shadows rushed passed the windows, he assumed they were houses or trees. 

Finally he looked over at the drivers side. It was Jonathan driving, because who else would it be. His eyes were fixed on the road and Sock wasn’t sure how he could see where he was driving.

He opened up the book.

_ If a person dreams about driving it may represent the amount of control they have over where they are going in life. When driving a car, the person in the driver’s seat has all the control over the vehicle and the destination. _

_ If you’re new to dream haunting, this kind of dream will be harder to interpret because a lot of the deeper meaning goes on inside the victim’s head. Do they know where they’re going or how to get there? What are they thinking of? However there are some outside observations one can use to their advantage. Is the dream’s subject driving the car? Are they anxious or calm? Are they in control of the car or driving recklessly or losing control of the vehicle? Are there other people in the car or are they alone? _

There were several subsections describing what each variation might mean and he thought not for the first time that MacAinsling was extremely thorough. He took this chance to study Jonathan and the dream around him. There was no one else in the car, in fact, there were no other cars as far as he could see. Sock slid his finger down the page until he found the section he was looking for.

_ If the subject is alone in the car, it signals a sense of isolation. They probably don’t have the proper support system they need in life. _

Isolation. Yeah. He figured that one out on his own a while ago. Jonathan didn’t have any friends and he barely talked to his family. The only person he spent a significant amount of time with was the demon haunting him, and that wasn’t by choice. Sock was about to flip the page when another section caught his eye.

_ If the road is dark ahead they may be unsure about where their life is going or what their future holds. This terrifies most humans and is an easy wound to pick at. _

He glanced at Jonathan again, still staring steadily out into the darkness in front of him. He sure didn’t seem terrified. Of all the humans he could have gotten stuck with he had to get the most well adjusted bastard to ever walk the planet, didn’t he. Of course, Sock knew he wouldn’t switch targets even if he could. The challenge was fun, he told himself.

He closed the book with a huff. So what he was getting was Jonathan is neck deep in self-imposed isolation and has no idea where is future is heading but he more or less okay with that because he’s the most unnaturally calm teenager to ever exist. Easy wound to pick at indeed.

\---

It went on like this for some time. Jonathan would fall asleep and Sock would quietly watch his dream and squeeze each bit of information he could to report back to MacAinsling. Sometimes they were short, sometimes they felt like they lasted days. Jonathan probably didn’t remember most of them, but Sock got addicted to it. Whether Jonathan dreamed about fighting zombies or watching movies with his older sister it was so much more than Jonathan had ever been willing to tell him.

Every night was just another piece of the puzzle. Jonathan thought his mom worked too hard. Jonathan missed his sister. Jonathan dreamed about him a lot. Every time he’d be pushed from a dream as Jonathan woke up he knew one thing for sure.

He wanted to know more.

\---

The dream felt different this time.

Usually, Jonathan’s dreams felt pretty much like… well Jonathan. A bit cold, a bit uncomfortable, a bit distant. This was different. It was warm.

Sock looked up at the sky first, it was rich gold, like the dream itself only cared about atmosphere, not reality. He was in a small park, trees encircled it like a fairy ring. An empty swing set stood nearby and a lone sandbox on the other side of it. In the sandbox was a kid, tiny, with tousled brown hair and a round face that he recognized from pictures he’s floated by a hundred times.

Jonathan.

He couldn’t be anymore than five, dirt caked on his clothes and tiny hands scooping up the sand into little mounds then resolutely patting them back down. It was so… normal, so relaxing, so innocent. He wanted a part of it. 

Maybe he could try.

He pulled the book out and settled down in the grass opening to the Table of Contents. A few lines down there was a chapter labelled “Dream Manipulation.” Sounds about right. He opened the book about midway and flipped through a couple pages until he got to the right section.

_ Dream manipulation describes the technique a higher level dream demon can perform. The demon may be able to control elements of a dream, project themselves into the dream, or--in extreme cases--create a whole new dream to trap the victim. _

_ To enter or manipulate a dream you must first take control of it. Feel the fibers of the dream and work your way into them. Imagine you’re reading out and taking hold of a bunch of strings, and it’s your job to weave them into a rope. _

That sounded gross.

Nevertheless Sock closed his eyes. He imagined himself reaching out. The image that came to mind was parting a curtain and stepping through it. Not the image the book suggested but it seemed to work. He felt the air around him thicken like jello sticking to his skin then melting away. He blinked open his eyes. The first thing he noticed was everything was a lot taller than it had been before. He looked down at himself. Actually, he was just a lot smaller. He’d shrunk to match Jonathan’s age.

Jonathan was still playing in the sand, unaware of his presence. The little mound he was building hadn’t gotten any bigger. Sock toddled over to him, it took a bit because his legs were a lot shorter now.

“Hi!”

Little Jonathan jumped and looked up at him with wide eyes. Sock waved one chubby little hand at him and he shrunk in on himself, tucking his chin to his chest and he glanced between Sock and the sand.

“Hi.”

It was a weird thing, Jonathan being shy, it wasn’t something Sock associated with him at all. Reserved definitely, but not shy. It was weird to think he might have been like this once. He pointed at the sandbox.

“Can I sit with you?” Jonathan nodded twice in a small jerky movement and went back to building his pile. Sock nestled himself into the sand and watched. No matter how much sand he added to it it didn’t seem to get any bigger. That might mean something significant. He tucked the information away for later use. “Why are you all alone?”

“I’m not alone,” Jonathan answered without looking up from his pile, “my dad’s here. He’s taking me home soon.”

Sock’s eyebrows raised. He did a quick scan of the playground to check if there was someone he missed. He startled, there were children in the empty swings now and a couple playing tag over by the weird trees, but no one old enough to be Jonathan’s dad.

“Where?”

Jonathan looked up startled and looked around the playground once, then again. 

“Well…” he looked back at Sock, “he’ll be here. He’s taking me home soon.”

“Huh, well can I play with you until he gets here?”

Jonathan patted his sand lump again, keeping his eyes fixed firmly somewhere to the right.

“I guess.”

Sock settled into the sandbox, the sand under his shoes reminded him of the beach dream and Jonathan staring into the tidepools. This Jonathan was much more responsive. He glanced around the sandbox, a second ago there was nothing but Jonathan and his little sand mound. Now there were toys, buckets, and shovels piled around like they’d been gathered by a big group of kids. Sock picked up one of the buckets and turned back to the sad little mound.

“Do you want to build a sandcastle?” 

Jonathan looked up at him, nodded once, and they set to work. It wasn’t very hard, the cylinders kept their structure without much effort and they never seemed to run out of sand despite how small the sandbox was. After a little bit of effort they had a nice large sandcastle fit for a small king. Sock wiped his forehead, smudging gritty sand across his face.

“That was fun!” Little Jonathan smiled at him and added a flag to the top of their sand castle.

It was fun playing with Jonathan like this, even if it was a young dream version of Jonathan. In a very faint way, it made him wish Jonathan had been there for his childhood. He wondered what might have been different.

“Jonathan?” His voice squeaked around the name, reminding him how young he currently was.

“Yeah?” Little Jonathan looked up from the moat he was digging around the castle.

“Are we friends?” Little Jonathan cocked his head to the side like he didn’t really understand the question. “Are we-?”

Before he could repeat the question darkness started pouring in, breaking up the image. The perfect trees, the golden sky, the kids playing all swirled away into nothing.

“No, no, no, no!” He grabbed Little Jonathan by the shoulders. “Don’t wake up yet! What’s your answer? What’s-” There was confusión written on little Jonathan’s face but soon that faded away as well and Sock found himself sitting in the hallway outside Jonathan’s room feeling like he’d missed his chance.

\---

“Hey, Jonathan?”

“Hm?” He didn’t look up from his math homework, pencil scratching rhythmically against the paper. He could feel the question on the tip of his tongue. _ Are we friends?  _ It was balanced there, waiting to spill out, but he couldn’t form the words. He was scared because he knew what Jonathan’s answer would be.

“What happened to your dad?”

Jonathan sat up abruptly and his old desk chair groaned in protest. He turned to give him a funny look, fingers still frozen above the next question.

“ _ Why? _ ”

Sock shrugged.

“Just curious. He’s in a few pictures around, but you’ve never mentioned him.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

Jonathan turned back to his homework but his pencil just tapped irrationally against the page.

“Not much to mention, he died when I was a kid.” He hunched up his shoulders and drew a deep slash through on of the problems, harsh in that way where you knew it would never erase out all the way. “End of story.”

Sock figured as much. Absent parent, plus pictures around the house, plus the fact that no one in the house talked about him, usually equaled a dead dad. He’d never bothered to ask about it because he assumed the answer, it didn’t seem important. End of story, like Jonathan said. But, that obviously wasn’t the end of the story if Jonathan still had dreams about him.

“Do you miss him?”

Jonathan’s mouth tightened and he glares down at his homework like he might burn a hole through it.

“You’re awfully prying today.” Sock shrugged. It was a couple seconds before Jonathan answered and for a moment Sock thought he was going to ignore it, but then his voice picked up again, a little flat, like he was trying hard not to care. “Not really.” He finally just set his pencil down and took to fiddling with the pages of the booking, ruffling the corners. “I think mom and Chris miss him a lot more than I do. I don’t really remember him.”

Sock nodded to himself. That made sense. Jonathan felt guilty about not missing his dad more.

“What about you?”

Sock snapped his head up.

“What?”

Jonathan turned in his seat, laying an arm across the back of it.

“Your parents. Are they still out there somewhere?”

“I— um…” Sock slowly sank to the floor, turning away from Jonathan’s curious gaze. “No, they’re not.”

He stayed quiet after that and Jonathan didn’t press it. That was one big difference between them. He wouldn’t even know what to tell him. What would he think of him? Jonathan had to know he was in Hell for a reason, but probably had no idea what that reason was. He thought about Little Jonathan and the sandcastle they built then looked at real Jonathan doing his math homework and wondered again what it would be like if they knew each other before.

The day went by incredibly slowly and to make matters worse Jonathan stayed up until midnight scrolling through the internet. He just wanted him to go to sleep, to start dreaming already. It wasn’t enough, he need an answer, he  _ needed  _ to know more. He needed something heavier, something deeper from his subconscious, something  _ Jonathan _ . He scuffed his boot against the dirt under his feet and huffed. Wait. There was dirt under his feet. 

Sock snapped his head up, replacing the black void was a wide field of yellow flowers stretched as far as he could see and trees dotted around the edges. The sky was blue with perfect clouds like a painted dome far above them. This was new. This was the first time one of Jonathan’s dreams had been so vivid… vibrant.

He wandered through the flowers, careful not to crush any of them under his boots. He found Jonathan sitting in a clearing, a small circle of lush green grass, plucking the petals off of a flower. He just stood at the edge for a moment, watching. The sun shining down onto him was rich and warm in a way that might not even be possible in reality, this was unreal. Then Jonathan turned his head and looked directly at him, a small but warm smile played across his face.

“Hey.” A thrilled shiver shook it’s way up his spine.

“Hey,” he answered. 

Jonathan patted the grass next to him and went back to shredding the flower he was holding. That was all the invitation Sock needed before stumbling his way over there and sitting down next to Jonathan. 

This was a lot. 

The sun was warm against his face and Jonathan was so close his skin was tingling and his heart was pounding.

“You okay?”

Sock jumped, Jonathan was staring at him, the same little smile still fixed on his face. That was way too much. He turned enough that he was only looking at Jonathan out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m fine!”

“Alright.” He didn’t sound convinced but he let it drop, instead just pressing a yellow flower into Sock’s hand. Sock stared at the flower, then glanced over at Jonathan who had gone back to picking away at his own flower. It was methodical, not aggressive or violent. Just a relaxing, rhythmic pull of petals like he was trying to reach the center. Sock looked back at his own flower and reached out to touch a petal. It was soft and pliable under his fingertips and gave easily when he plucked it away. MacAinsling’s book probably had a section on the meanings of flowers, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

He set his flower aside. It was warm and relaxing and suddenly he felt brave.

“Jonathan…” He took a deep breath as Jonathan turned to look at him. “Are we friends?”

Jonathan chuckled, and it wasn’t sarcastic or something else, just as genuine laugh. It was like music to Sock’s ears, he could listen to that forever. Suddenly the warmth beneath his skin had nothing to do with the suns rays.

“Yeah I guess we are.”

They lapses into silence after that, Sock rolling this over in his head, but he couldn’t find it in himself to analyze all this. He didn’t want to pick it apart, it was too peaceful, too warm. He wanted to stay like this. It was nice, relaxing. He hadn’t felt relaxed in a long time. The sun was warm, the flowers made the air smell sweet, and Jonathan was very close to him. 

Hang on. 

He looked to the side, Jonathan was leaning in, close enough that Sock could see the smattering of light freckles on his nose. He had a weird expression on his face, caught somewhere between flustered and content.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Sock breathed out, more of a sigh than a word.

Then Jonathan was kissing him. 

The press of lips against his own set his insides on fire, like someone shoved a lighter into the hole in his stomach and flicked it on. He slid a hand to the back of Jonathan’s neck tilting his head so he could press deeper. He wanted more. Jonathan cupped his face and  _ wow _ . Holy shit, Jonathan was kissing him.

…

_ Holy shit _ , Jonathan was kissing him.

The reality of what was happening crept in and Sock pushed back, leaping up from his spot.  _ Holy shit _ this was not supposed to happen. He looked up at the darkening sky and took another step back.  _ Holy shit. _ What was he doing.

Hang on.

Sock looked back up at the sky. It wasn’t darkening, it was melting away. Darkness was rapidly rushing towards them eating up the flowers and trees as it went.

The last thing he saw was the confusion etched across Jonathan’s face before he melted away as well. Now, floating in the void with the impression of Jonathan’s mouth against his still tingling across his skin Sock realized two things. Jonathan wasn’t waking up, and he hadn’t done this.

“Having fun?”

Sock whirled around. MacAinsling was looming behind him the lines on his face dug into a look of vile anger that matched the venom in his voice. The void around him twisted and pulsed like it would do whatever he told it to.

“I— It wasn’t what it looked like I— It wasn’t—“ Every lie he could have told came rushing forward at once getting bottlenecked in his throat until he couldn’t even stutter excuses and MacAisley still glared.

“I don’t know what Mephistopheles sees in you.” He stalked forward, the pulsing energy creeping closer with every step. Sock moved backwards instinctively, every part of his brain screaming DANGER DANGER DANGER. “You’re no demon. You’re an idiotic child. I’m taking this matter into my hands.” MacAinsling was right in front of him now seeming impossibly tall, hand twisting into the front of his sweater and yanking him up. “Now sit back and watch a master at work.” The hand let go and suddenly he was falling from an impossible height, down into the darkness and whatever might be at the bottom, until suddenly he snapped back into himself. He was in the hallway outside Jonathan’s room. 

Holy shit this was bad.

\---

“Jonathan I… I need to tell you something.”

“Hm?” He was laying in his bed, one ankle crossed over the other, scrolling through something on his phone. He didn’t seem all that interested in what Sock was about to say, boy was that going to change.

“It’s uh--” Sock swallowed heavily, his mouth was dry, “it’s about your dream… last night.”

Jonathan dropped his phone, it hit his chest with a muffled thump. He stared at Sock with mild horror as the tips of his ears turned red.

“How did-- how did you--?” The blush spread further across his face and he snapped into a sitting position. “Holy shit, was that actually you?” Sock opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He’d rehearsed this a hundred times before dawn but he couldn’t remember anything. Jonathan was still flushed, but it wasn’t just embarrassment now, he was… angry, furious. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I- I um-” He was cut off as Jonathan slapped a hand to his forehead.

“ _ That’s _ why you asked about my dad. That was you in that dream too. I knew I was having a lot of weird dreams but I thought it was just…” Jonathan pinned him with a glare that made him shrink back against the wall. “Just how long have you been fucking around inside my head?”

“That’s- That’s not the point!” He pushed off the wall to float closer to Jonathan. “I Have to tell you I-” 

“Shut up, Sock.” Jonathan swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, hands clenching and unclenching like he didn’t know what to do with them. “This is just.. too much.” He crossed the room and yanked his door open, turning back to point at Sock. “Stay  _ away  _ from me.” The door slammed shut behind him and Sock winced.

This was bad.

Jonathan ignored him for the rest of the day. It wasn’t like normal where he’d crack a few obnoxious jokes and Jonathan would break down just to grimace at him, he refused to look anywhere in Sock’s direction. There was anger threaded through every movement. It stayed that way through the day, even as Jonathan rolled into bed and drew the covers up over his shoulder.

“Jonathan.” No answer, he wasn’t expecting one. It took a long time for Jonathan to fall asleep, but he watched as Jonathan’s breathing slowly evened out and the tension drain from his shoulders.

This was really bad.

He didn’t even have to to finish the thought before he was pulled into Jonathan’s dream.

It wasn’t gentle like the other times. It felt like he was yanked in by a piece of barbed wire wrapped around his waist and plunged into some thick black fluid. Dragged down and down and down. The pressure increased until he was gasping for breath he didn't need until he fell hard on frozen ground.

Sock hissed as he drew his knees up towards him, they were covered in scrapes from the landing. He watched as blood bubbled up and began to drip slowly from the cut. He poked at the scrapes to wipe the blood of and felt a sharp sting as his finger swiped across the damaged skin. He had a gaping wound through his stomach, but his cut knees hurt.

He picked himself up off the ground, and looked around. He was in a forest, every tree was massive, towering high above him, reaching up until their limbs knit together into a tight ceiling so he couldn’t even see the sky. The whole place was lit up by an eerie light that didn’t seem to have a source. 

It was cold. It wasn’t pleasant briskness or ‘new snowfall’ cold, it was frostbite cold, it was ‘wear three pairs of socks and keep your fingers bunched in your pockets so they don’t fall off’ cold. Sock wilted in on himself, rubbing his hands up and down his arms to generate heat his body shouldn’t need. There was no noise in the forest and no movement. Everything was frozen.

“Jonathan?” He called tentatively. His voice echoed unnaturally around the space and pressed back on him.

Nothing.

This had to be Jonathan’s dream, and Jonathan’s dream would have Jonathan in it somewhere. MacAinsling’s words echoed in his head.  _ I’m taking this matter into my hands. _ He got the feeling this wasn’t a natural dream.

He needed to find Jonathan.

There was no way to orient himself so he picked a direction and started walking. Jonathan has to be in here somewhere. He wasn’t sure how long he walked for, could have been minutes, could have been hours, but there was no sign of Jonathan. Sock started to wonder if he was even in here. Maybe MacAinsling was just watching him bumble around for a quick laugh.

When his gaze landed on something that wasn’t trees he was almost startled. A cliff face loomed above him in the distance stretching as far as he could see to either side. Icicles hung off every nook and cranny making it impossible to climb. He was about to turn around and head in another direction when something made him stop. He wasn’t sure what.

A small noise drifted out from somewhere ahead of him, it wasn’t much but in the dead quiet of the woods it seemed loud. He listened hard, trying to pick up anything else. There. A quiet crunch of dead leaves. He moved towards the sound, stepping heel to toe to quiet his footsteps. About ten feet ahead of him the cliff face dipped inward as two planes of stone meet creating the entrance to a cave. He was willing to bet that’s where the noise was coming from. 

The closer he crept the more tense he got. It had to be Jonathan, it had to be Jonathan, it had to be. But he had no idea what else was in here with him. When he reached the edge of the opening he took a deep breath and peered in. It was dark inside, he could just barely make out a shadowy shape in the back of the cave. He squinted, trying to make out what it was, and suddenly the same diluted light from the rest of the forest flooded the small cave. Inside, hunched over and shivering, was Jonathan. When the light hit him he jumped glancing around wildly until his eyes fell on Sock at the mouth of the cave.

“...Sock?” In a split second he scrambled forward and yanked Sock inside the cave. “What’s going on, do you know where we are?” The frantic edge to his voice caught Sock by surprise. He caught Jonathan by the arms to try and ground him.

“This isn’t real, Jonathan, you’re dreaming.” 

Jonathan’s eyes widened and his shivering slowed for just a second.

“I’m… dreaming…” He looked back at Sock his eyes hard as he drew away slowly. “You said you were screwing with my dreams, are you doing this?”

“No!” Sock waved his arms frantically. “It’s not me it’s-”

An ear splitting screech tore through the silence and Sock clamped his hands over his ears. The sound faded away 

“ _ What  _ was that?”

Jonathan didn’t look away from the mouth of the cave, he was shivering violently and his teeth probably would have been chattering if they weren’t clenched so tight.

“Something’s been chasing me. I don’t know what.” Sock swallowed, shuffling a little. Jonathan turned to him suddenly. “This is just a dream, right? So, it can’t hurt me?” He looked so desperate that Sock wanted to say no, tell him he was completely safe, it was just a dream and he’d wake up soon, but when he opened his mouth he found he couldn’t form the lie.

“I don’t know.”

A growl rumbled from just outside the mouth of the cave and they both whirled around to face it. A shadow shifted through the trees outside, a big shadow. It turned and two enormous red eyes shown through the dark, staring right at him. Sock squeezed his eyes shut, wrapping his arms around himself. He didn’t want this he didn’t want this he didn’t want this. 

He didn’t know what he was waiting for, but it didn’t come. Actually nothing came. He couldn’t feel Jonathan beside him, or the dirt under his boots, or the cold. His eyes snapped open, he was back in Jonathan’s room, over near the desk like before he was yanked into Jonathan’s dream. Jonathan was in his bed ramrod straight and looking paler than Sock had ever seen him with sweat sticking his bangs to his forehead. Slowly he turned to look at Sock.

“What the fuck was that?” It wasn’t accusatory, like he’d gone far passed it at this point, and the waver in his voice made Sock wince.

“Damien MacAinsling.”

Jonathan opened his mouth but didn’t speak for a second like he was still trying to shake himself loose from the nightmare.

“What?”

“Remember when I said I had something to tell you?” Sock pressed the pads of his fingers together, trying to fidget as little as possible as Jonathan’s eyes narrowed.

“Yeah?”

He took a deep breath.

“A couple of weeks ago I kinda just… stumbled into one of your dreams. Mephistopheles, my boss, thought it was a good opportunity to” he waved his hands a little “study you, so he sent me to an expert. Damien MacAinsling.” Jonathan was still watching him silently, he was starting to get stage fright. “Well, yesterday when… you know… MacAinsling showed up.” Sock turned away, hunching his shoulders to shield himself from Jonathan’s stare. “He didn’t--uh-- approve of the way I was ‘spending my time’,” he added air quotes, “and said he was gonna take matters into his own hands.” He didn’t think he really needed to explain that. The implications hung heavy between them and Jonathan’s silence was slowly crushing him.

“So,” Jonathan’s voice rung out harshly and for a moment Sock thought he was back in the forest, “you got another demon to teach you how to break into my head, and now he wants to kill me.”

“Torture you.” Sock added tentatively.

From the corner of his eye he watched Jonathan climb out of bed and move towards him, moving until he was standing in Sock’s line of sight.

“You’re going to fix this.”

“Jonathan-”

“You don’t have any say in this!” Jonathan hissed and reached out to jab his finger into Sock’s chest. “You are going to  _ fix this _ , and then you are going to get  _ far away from me _ .”

He swallowed heavily, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor as Jonathan left the room. 

\---

The next night it was the same.

They were in the woods again, it was the same dream. Which meant that thing was still after Jonathan. In front of him Jonathan closed his eyes, hunching over a bit then sighed. 

“Let’s go.”

Sock followed him wordlessly, there was nothing to do but move forward. Jonathan was trapped and Sock was powerless. They just had to wait it out and try not to die because he didn’t want to think about what might happen then.

They walked until their feet burned from the cold and they were too exhausted to go any further, but the forest around them was unchanged, as thick and dark as when they started. Jonathan stopped abruptly leaning against the trunk of a large tree and Sock almost bumped into him.

“I need to stop.” He panted, leaning his back against the tree and sliding to the ground. He wrapped his arms around his knees and pressed his face into them. Sock could see the heavy shivers wracking his body.

“Are you... okay?”

“No!” Jonathan lifted his head up to glare at him. “I’m trapped inside my own head while some asshole tries to Freddy Krueger me because  _ you  _ couldn’t mind your own business. How on  _ Earth  _ would I be okay?”

Sock faltered a little bit, he opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. Jonathan was right, this was his fault.

“We… shouldn’t stay out here in the open,” he finally said. “Let’s find somewhere to sit for a while.” He turned around to scan the area and startled back. Directly in front of him was a rocky outcropping that definitely hadn’t been there before. It formed a small cave not unlike the one he found Jonathan in the first time. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or suspicious. He crept over and peered inside. “It’s empty.” He turned back to Jonathan who was still slumped against the tree glaring at him. “You- You go inside. I’m gonna-” He gestured behind him at the forest, flapping his hands a little to get the point across. “Firewood.” Then spun on his heel and ran the fuck away.

Sock fumbled around in the dark for branches and little twigs, hoping the stuff he found closer to the bases of the trees would be dry enough to start a fire. If they were able to start a fire at all. He kept his ears perked, ready for any noise, but there was nothing. When he got back Jonathan pressed up against the back of the cave, glaring at the floor.

“I’ll… get a fire going.” 

Jonathan didn’t answer, nor did he look up when Sock started piling sticks together. It wasn’t until he had a nice little fire built that he realized he had no way to start it. He sat back on his heels and just stared at it. He had no way to start the fire. He was supposed to fix all this and he couldn’t even start a stupid fire. A soft thump at his feet drew his attention. A silver lighter was laying in the dirt, glinting in the eerie lighting. He looked up at Jonathan, catching his hard gaze.

“Light the damn fire.”

\---

Sock stuck his hands close to the fire, rubbing them together to try and bring back feeling into his fingers. It’d been a really long time since he’d been this cold. He remembered a winter when he locked himself out off his house. Both his parents were at work and there was no spare key. By the time they got home there was snow in his eyelashes and he couldn’t feel his ears. This was worse. Across from him, Jonathan sat hunched into himself, arms wrapped around his middle. His jaw was tight as he glared into the fire.

He messed up. He messed up big time. 

Jonathan’s eyes flicked up to his and his glare deepened. Sock’s breath caught in his throat and he sucked in a breath. He needed to say something, anything, to explain himself or apologize or maybe just throw up.

“Jonathan-”

“Shut up, Sock.” 

Sock clamped his mouth shut.

“I didn’t- I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Jonathan leveled him with a glare that could wilt flowers.

“What do you mean you didn’t mean for this to happen. You’ve been trying to kill me since day one.” Jonathan picked up a stick from the pile Sock placed near them and began prodding the fire, stirring the coals around. The wood crackled and smoked as the oxygen around it shifted. “If it wasn’t this it would have been something else. If it wasn’t something else maybe it would have been me, but I’m just-” he made a frustrated noise low in his throat. “I’m so  _ stupid _ . I should have expected it.” Jonathan prodded the fire more aggressively, which crackled and sent sparks floating up towards the ceiling. “You’re here to make me kill myself.” He tossed the stick onto the fire causing more sparks to puff out and drew his knees up to his chest, tucking his chin into them. The firelight threw shadows across his face, he looked more tired than Sock had ever seen him. When he spoke again it was so quiet Sock almost couldn’t here. “I don’t know why I’m disappointed.”

Guilt bubbled up in his stomach and stuck his tongue to the roof of his mouth. 

“I just...” Sock swallowed passed the thick lump in his throat, realizing the truth just as it fell off his tongue. “I just wanted you to be my friend.” 

Jonathan sighed.

“Friends don’t do shit like this, Sock.”

They lapsed back into silence and Sock picked up a stick from the pile, digging the end into the soft dirt on the cave floor.

Jonathan jolted straight up, snapping towards the mouth of the cave.

“Did you hear that?”

Sock was on guard in an instant, listening hard. The faint sound of a twig snapping echoes. The stick fell from his hand as they both jumped to their feet.

“What do we do?”

“I don’t know.” Jonathan hissed back.

They both watched the mouth of the cave. Sock held his breath. There was something out there in the forest, a hulking black shape moving through the silhouettes of the trees. He tensed up, heart pounding, ready to run or fight he wasn’t sure which. 

Then he was back in a warm dark room. Jonathan was sitting up in his bed, panting harshly. Before Sock could say anything he swung his feet out of bed and left the room. Sock followed him two doors down to the bathroom where he turned on the faucets and leaned over the sink to splash water on his face. He just stood there for a second, clutching the edge of the sink with white knuckles. After a moment he let out a breath and straightened up, droplets of water running down his face and neck. Sock wordlessly stepped aside so he could grab a towel without reaching through him, and Jonathan dried his face and left the room without a word. Sock cursed under his breath and followed him down to the kitchen.

There was muffled movement in the kitchen, the creak of cabinets and clanking of dishes. A quick glance at the clock told him it was 5:30 AM, Jonathan’s mom hadn’t left for work yet. Jonathan let the kitchen door swing shut behind him, so he had to phase through it. It was a really passive aggressive slight, but that didn’t stop him from being bitter about it.

“Good morning.” Ms. Comb’s voice was a sharp knife through the silence that hung between them. “What are you doing up so early.” When she turned to glance at her son the smile dropped off her face. “Jonathan, are you alright? You don’t look well.”

Jonathan sighed threw his nose and turned away from her to pull a mug down from the cabinet.

“I’m fine. I just haven’t been sleeping very well.” When he turned back around he wobbled a bit and had to brace himself on the counter. His mom was next to him immediately, pressing the back of her hand against his forehead. She clucked her tongue.

“It doesn’t feel like you have a fever. Sweetheart, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

His mom sighed and slid her hand up, gently pushing his bangs out of his face. It was such an affectionate gesture Sock had to look away. He felt like he was spying.

“If you say so.”

When he looked back up Jonathan was glaring at him over her shoulder.

He didn’t go with Jonathan to school. Instead he settled into a corner of the living room. If Jonathan wanted him to fix this, he would fix it, but he had no idea how. It’s not like he was an expert on this, if it wasn’t for the book he wouldn’t- 

The book. 

He still had the book.

Sock jumped up from his spot on the floor and pulled the book out of its hiding place. There had to be something in here he could use, or at least something to give him an idea. He settled back down and ruffled through all the pages. It was huge, there had to be something. He opened to the first page and started reading.

He didn’t stop when Jonathan got home and Jonathan didn’t bother him. Jonathan sat on the couch awkward and stiff. Obviously not trusting himself inside his own room. It wasn’t until night when Jonathan couldn’t fight sleep anymore that he finally looked up from the book. If only to adjust to the sudden shift in temperature as he found himself with Jonathan in the dark forest once more. 

They were just outside the cave this time. No wandering and awkward silences necessary. They went inside without a word and Sock sat down, relief flooding through him when he realized the book had come with him. Jonathan sat down on the other side of him and Sock spared him only a glance before burying his nose back in MacAinsling’s writing. It was quiet for a while, with only the flip of pages making sound.

“What are you doing?”

Sock looked up, Jonathan was leaning forward to peer down at him from over the book. He closed it and turned it around so Jonathan could see.

“Remember when I said this was a journal or whatever? It’s not. MacAinsling —the demon that’s doing all this—wrote it. It’s about dream haunting.” He turned the book back around and stared at the cover. “I thought there might be something in it to help me,” he waved his hand vaguely, “figure this all out.” Only silence answered him and after a moment he looked up to find Jonathan staring incredulously at him. “What?”

“You’re actually trying to fix this?” 

Sock stared back at him.

“Well, yeah, you told me too.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to do it.” Jonathan sat back against the wall with a sigh and Sock opened  _ A Study in Dream Haunting  _ once more. They sat in silence as Sock searched the book, looking for anything that might help him. It wasn’t until he was skimming the chapter “The Basics of Dream Haunting” that something caught his eye.

_ Breaking into human dreams is an extremely difficult process. The human mind is naturally guarded against demonic intrusions such as this because of lingering (something or another) of Providence’s power in the way souls are created. This defense becomes more sturdy if the human is naturally wary or guarded. As such a demon must possess a wealth of experience and strength before attempting to enter a victim’s dreams. Any demon too weak to be attempting this maneuver will at best find themselves unable to enter the dream, or at worst, be ripped apart by the victims natural defenses.  _

Sock let the book fall against his lap with a small thud. He could feel Jonathan’s eyes on him but he didn’t lift his gaze from the opposite wall. Something about this just didn’t add up. Something was weird. 

“Did you find something?” Jonathan asked after a moment. Sock opened his mouth 

“I’m not a powerful demon.” 

The corners of Jonathan’s mouth lifted into a little smirk. 

“Wow really I hadn’t noticed.”

“No, Jonathan, I’m serious.” He sat up a little straighter and jabbed a finger into the space between them. “Hell runs on brownie points, the more souls you bring in the more rewards you get. I haven’t been a demon for long, like not even a year, you’re my first haunt. It doesn’t seem right that I could have just  _ poofed _ into your dreams.” He made a little flicking motion with his hand. “Not to mention you’re like, extremely stand-off-ish.. No offense.” He added quickly when Jonathan glared. “From what the book says I probably should have been roasted the first time I went into your head, at least if I’d done it on my own…”

MacAinsling’s words echoed in his head. That Sock was weak and tiny and useless. That Mephistopheles made some kind of mistake. He looked down at the book again.

“I think…” he started, trying to catch all his thoughts as they fluttered around like butterflies, “ I think MacAinsling might have given me this power.”

“What?” Sock jumped a little, he’d been talking more to himself than anything, and almost forgot Jonathan was there. “Why would he do that?”

“I think he hates me.” 

“Why would he hate you?”

Sock shrugged.

“Seems like a popular opinion.” 

There was just silence between them for a while. Sock flipped through the pages of the book more to do something with his hands than anything. He figured that was the end of the conversation and almost jumped when Jonathan spoke again.

“I don’t hate you.”

Sock wasn’t quite sure what he was hearing. Maybe he heard it, but he couldn’t quite believe it.

“Really?”

“Maybe I did at first but, not so much anymore.”

“Even after… all this?” He didn’t really want the answer, but he had to know. The same feeling that drove him in the playground and the flower field fluttered somewhere inside him. He had to know. Jonathan shrugged.

“I don’t know. I’m mad... like really fucking mad... but I don’t hate you.”

Sock found himself fiddling with his scarf, feeling warm and light despite the freezing air pressing in on them. There was pressure behind his chest and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. He didn’t have a chance to do either because the same deafening roar he’d heard the first night crashed through the cave. They stared at each other with equal expressions of horror.

“It’s never found me this fast before.”

Sock stood up, tucking the book against his chest. He still had no idea what to do about this.

“Maybe, you’ll just wake up. You have the last couple nights.”

“You wanna bet your life on that?” Jonathan asked through clenched teeth.

They ran. 

They tore through the forest, ducking under branches and kicking up leaves. They were probably making a ton of noise but Sock could only hear the blood pumping loud in his ears as he forced himself to keep pace with Jonathan. Over his heaving breath and the sound of their heavy steps he heard it. The sound of twigs breaking and leaves crunchy behind them, getting closer by the second. 

They broke through into a clearing just as another ear shattering roar sounded behind them and stopped. They’d reached the cliff face. There was nowhere else to run. Sock slowly turned to face the treeline, backing up until he was pressed flat against the rock face. Jonathan was frozen next to him, eyes fixed on something just passed the trees. 

The creature slowed, like it knew they were trapped now. It growled and paced the treeline, just out of sight. It felt like hours before it turned and fixed its enormous red eyes on them and stepped out into the clearing. The thing was pure black, so dark it seemed to pull everything towards it like an enormous black hole. The eyes were wide and round, fixed on them, never wavering. As he watched, shadow split open to reveal rows and rows of fangs as it snarled and took a step forward. Sock’s blood ran cold, it wasn’t staring at them, it was staring at Jonathan. The monster pounced.

“ _ Jonathan! _ ” Sock slammed into Jonathan, wrapping his arms around him and knocking him to the ground. He waited for pain but it didn’t come. Actually nothing came. His arms closed around empty air. 

His eyes snapped open, he was back in Jonathan’s room, over near the desk like before he was yanked into Jonathan’s dream. He was crouching curled forward as though he was still protecting Jonathan, but Jonathan wasn’t there. Jonathan was sitting up on the couch, breathing hard.

“Are you okay?”

Jonathan’s gaze met his and he nodded once. Sock let out a breath that was almost a sigh of relief. He uncurled from his spot on the floor and straighten out his clothing. When he looked back up, Jonathan was still staring at him with a funny look on his face.

“What?”

“You tried to save me.”

Sock’s face grew hot and he darted his gaze over to the foot of the couch, twisting his fingers into his scarf.

“Yeah?”

“Why?”

He sighed.

“Jonathan. When I — I mean — in those dreams you had, before MacAinsling took over. I wasn’t trying to make fun of you. I kept saying it was research, that I was gonna use it for the job but I-” he snuck a glance towards the couch, Jonathan was just watching him quietly an unreadable expression on his face, “I think I just liked learning more about you. In the one with your dad and… and the flower field,” he covered his eyes with his hand, focusing on the darkness behind his eyelids and not Jonathan’s gaze burning him, “I was just being selfish. I just wanted… more of you, and I think MacAinsling saw that.”

He let his hand run down his face and fall into his lap, turning to face Jonathan and match his gaze.

“I don’t want you to die, Jonathan.”

They sat there for a while, Jonathan just staring at him with an unreadable expression. Sock didn’t know what that meant and it made him nervous.

“You’re not saying anything.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I dunno how about something like,” he cleared his throat lowering his voice into a rough imitation of Jonathan’s voice, “Wow Sock that’s a nice sentiment, I also have a soft spot for you wanna go make out?”

Jonathan cracked a small smile. Sock couldn’t help himself, he giggled, then Jonathan huffed out a laugh and soon the were chuckling together. It wasn’t full blown laughter but after the past couple days it was such a welcome relief that Sock melted into the sound. It made him feel warm like curling into a fluffy blanket on a cold day. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed talking to Jonathan, the  _ real  _ Jonathan.

After a moment he sighed.

“I guess it’s time to start thinking of a plan.” He summoned the book and placed it on the floor in front of him then turned his focus to Jonathan. “Don’t fall asleep.”

“I’ll try my best.”

\---

They sat there for hours and came up with nothing. Neither of them were experts on this and most of the book might as well be a foreign language for as well as Sock understood it.

He flipped through the book mindlessly, not even really looking at the words. It was all too much, too hopeless. He flipped another page. It was the beginning of the symbol index, the guide to dream interpretation he’d started this whole thing with. He was about to flip the page again when something caught his eye.

_ A person’s house is comforting to them and it’s where people spend most of their time, so within a dream a house can be representative of a person’s identity, thoughts and ideas, interpersonal relationships, etc. _

“Hm.”

“What?”

He looked up, Jonathan was sitting on the floor in front of him, leaning back against his bed.

“I just- the book mentions that houses in dreams are representative of the person’s identity.” He turned the book around and tapped on the passage so Jonathan could read it. “I was just thinking maybe—if we find your house in your dreams—maybe the link would be in there.”

Jonathan reached out to take the book but his fingers passed right through it. Instead he just glared at it for a second like it was the books fault he forgot he couldn’t touch it. Sock had to bite his lip to keep from smiling.

“Even if you’re right. We haven’t seen anything but that forest for the past three days.”

Sock thought for a moment. Something about this whole haunting just didn’t seem quite right. Demons weren’t supposed to steal another demon’s haunt. MacAinsling knew that, that’s why he kept Sock away from Mephistopheles, but how was he planning on hiding his involvement in this?  How was he planning to get away scott free?

“Sock?”

Jonathan quirked an eyebrow in question and blinked his tired eyes, tired, pretty eyes.

“I think MacAinsling is using a loophole,” he answered.

“What?”

“There’s a rule in hell, kind of like a ‘law’.” He punctuated it with air quotes. “Demons aren’t supposed to steal another demon’s soul. It’s a big no-no. So I was thinking. MacAinsling isn’t a dumb guy, he wouldn’t be doing this if he couldn’t get away with it. I think he’s been planning this whole thing from the beginning.” He set the book aside and leaned forward. “MacAinsling set up the link so I would end up in your dreams. He knew I would go to Meph about it, and Meph would send me to him.   
“You’re not MacAinsling’s haunt. He’s not supposed to take over, but since Meph gave him permission to help me, he’s using that as a loophole to get to you. If we break the link he has no way to get to you!”

Sock began to pat out a rhythm on Jonathan’s carpet in order to vent his excitement. It all made sense. The reason MacAinsling set up the link in the first place. The reason he’d been watching that night with the flower field. The reason he was risking all this in the first place. Even if Sock had to deal with him after they broke the link it didn’t matter, because he couldn’t get to Jonathan anymore. Maybe Mephistopheles would believe he’s tried to kill Sock’s human. He could at least talk to him about it. 

Socks attention was brought back to the room as Jonathan made a little noise across from him.

“That makes sense I guess, but how do we do that?”

“I… don’t know.” Sock admitted, reaching up to scratch his cheek. “But we’ll figure something out. You’re going to fall asleep sooner or later and at least this gives us something to aim towards.

“Alright,” Jonathan sighed, “but like I said, we haven’t seen anything even close to my house since this all started. I don’t think Demon Mc Whats-His-Name is gonna let us anywhere near the link if you’re right.”

Sock rested his cheek in his hand. 

“I don’t think MacAinsling is at full power.” 

“Your dreams have still been responding to us when we need things.” He ticked off a list on his hand. “Firewood, caves, lighters. MacAinsling is a powerful demon, he should be able to take complete control of your dreams.”

Jonathan blinked slowly, the bags under his eyes stood in stark contrast to how pale his skin had gotten. He looked exhausted.

“He’s still powerful enough to do all this, so how does that help us.”

“Well, on your own you probably wouldn’t be able to do anything, he’s a demon, and you’re a human, but if we work together we might be able to figure it out.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean if you lower your guard for me, we might be able to mess with it  _ just enough _ to find the link.”

“How do I do that? Lower my guard I mean.” Jonathan’s eyes slipped closed and Sock reached out to touch his knee, a shiver ran through him and he jolted back into awareness.

“I think you just need to give me permission or something, I’m not sure.” He shrugged. “There’s nothing in the book about humans willingly letting you haunt their dreams.” He paused. “Except—you know—Succubi, but that’s an entirely different can of worms.” 

That got a chuckle out of Jonathan and Sock smiled at him briefly.

“It’s worth a try,” he finally said. “I guess we’ll figure it out.”

 

When night rolled around, Jonathan got ready for bed with the methodic atmosphere of a man heading for the gallows. Sock followed every movement, he was scared. It wasn’t until he’d climbed into bed that he finally spoke. 

“Are you sure this will work?”

Sock floated towards the end of his bed, resting one hand on the footboard. Jonathan was staring up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused and heavy. He was so tired.

“No.” Jonathan closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. “But I’m gonna give it my best shot.”

Blue eyes slid back open and fixed on him. Jonathan lifted a hand and gestured for him to come closer. Sock floated over towards the front of the bed and Jonathan’s hand wrapped around his wrist. A quick tug pulled him down onto the bed, bringing them face to face just inches apart. 

“This isn’t just some elaborate ruse to mess with me, is it?” His voice was barely above a whisper but they were so close it was still clear as day.

“No, this is way more complicated than anything I’d be willing to do.”

Jonathan chuckled.

“Yeah that’s what I thought.” 

His eyes slid closed again and Sock just watched him for a moment before closing his eyes as well. He didn’t need to but it felt more natural this way, he could almost imagine the warmth of Jonathan’s body next to him.

Slowly the warmth he felt seeped away as unnatural cold nipped at his skin. When he opened his eyes they were in the forest again. 

“Okay.” Sock turned towards Jonathan who was already beginning to shiver. “Here goes everything.” He held out a hand and Jonathan tentatively took it. Sock shut his eyes and tried to focus. He tried to focus on getting where they needed to go, on the warmth of Jonathan’s hand, on getting Jonathan out of here. When Jonathan made a little noise of surprise he opened them again. 

They were not at Jonathan’s house.

“I don’t recognize this place.” Jonathan twisted left and right, frantically trying to catch a whiff of whatever danger might be coming for them. Sock stared and stared, there was something all too familiar about the graveyard stretching out in front of him. The curve of the hills sloping down towards to houses below, the frigid night air eating away at his fingers and nose. The trees dotted around. 

“That’s because this isn’t your nightmare.” He turned slowly, knowing what he was going to see before it came into view. Three open graves with dirt hastily scattered around and three words carved into the tombstones:  _ Mom Dad Me _ . “It’s mine.”


	4. Chapter 4

Sock floated forward. Not in a literal sense, he was basically powerless in these nightmares, but it felt that way as he moved towards the graves he hoped he’d never see again. He reached out a hand to touch his own gravestone. It was cold as ice.

“We need to get out of here.”

“Sock, what’s going on.” He squeezed his eyes shut and snatched his hand away from the icy stone, turning back to Jonathan.

“I think something went wrong, this isn’t- we shouldn’t be here.” 

He grabbed Jonathan’s shoulder as if to run and drag him along, but the second he turned around they weren’t in the graveyard anymore. He recognized that doorway. He looked over his shoulder. His parent’s bedroom. They were in his parents bedroom.

“We need to go.” This was MacAinsling’s doing, it had to be. He was watching and getting some sort of sick pleasure out of this. They had to get out, they had to go and find the link, and break it and-

“Sock?” Jonathan’s voice wavered, and he realized his hand was sticking to Jonathan’s hoodie. He lifted the hand up, leaving behind a wet red handprint. Blood. Sock looked down at himself. His clothes were covered in gore, blood seeping thick and sticky between his fingers and under his nails. So much blood, fabric soaked and sticking to his skin. 

“Sock.” It wasn’t Jonathan’s voice this time. He slowly turned around to face his parents bed. It was an empty mess of blood and bedding, just like he’d left it. He whirled back to Jonathan, mouth open to tell him to run, but the space next to him was empty. He was alone.

“Sock.” The voice said again, it seemed to come from everywhere at once vibrating through his bones. Blood dripped off the bed onto the floor, crawling it’s way towards him. He retracted until his back was pressed up against the door.

“You did this.” The voice was coming from the bed. It was quiet but persistent, worming its way inside his head. The blood was oozing up his shoes, filling the room, seeping out of the walls and ceiling. The room got hotter, a stark contrast to the unbearable cold of the forest and the graveyard.

“ _ You did this. _ ” It said again, harder this time, like a knife being pressed into his skull. No, no. He couldn’t handle it, couldn’t handle it. The blood was at his ankles, soaking into his socks and filling up his boots. His skin was starting to burn from the heat.

“Why’d you do it?” The bed asked him.

“I didn’t mean to!” Sock screwed his eyes up and pressed his fists against them, because he really didn’t. He didn’t want to kill them. He didn’t want them dead, but they were and there was nothing he could do about it. The blood was around his waist now, seeping through his clothes, into his skin, staining everything.

“Sock.” Jonathan’s voice cut through the haze like a shard of ice, cool and calm in the mitsed of the burning heat. A hand was on his shoulder, and Jonathan was kneeling next to him. He was on the ground, curled into a ball, when had that happened? Jonathan was kneeling next to him with a hand on his shoulder. Steady and warm, but not hot, not like the heat surrounding him. Sock looked up and Jonathan locked eyes with him, clear, blue eyes. He opened his mouth. “Breathe.”

Then everything was gone, the blood, the bed, the heat everything. All there was was Jonathan and his blue eyes. Sock was wrapped around him before he even thought about it, face buried in his shoulder. Jonathan was still for a second, but then his form shifted and hesitant hands wrapped around his back and he melted into it. 

He took a couple deep breaths, grounding himself with the feeling of Jonathan’s arms around him until his hands stopped shaking, but he didn't want to let got. He felt like if he let go of Jonathan now he’d sink back into whatever that was. So he stayed where he was, and Jonathan let him. 

“Thank you,” he said once he found his voice.

Jonathan said nothing, but Sock felt the cheek on his head shift and Jonathan pressed a small kiss to the top of his head. Warmth bloomed in his chest as he pressed his face into Jonathan’s shoulder. It wasn’t anything like the kiss in the flower field, but it was so much more because it was really Jonathan this time, and it was really him, and it was as close to real as they could get.

When he pulled away to look at Jonathan there were a lot of things he could have said, a lot of things he wanted to say, but he couldn’t get any of them out. Instead he just sighed.

“I’m gonna get you out of this, Jonathan.”

Jonathan drew his arms back and he immediately missed the warmth.

“Are you ready to try again?”

Sock nodded.

\---

“This is it.”

Sock unclenched his eyes, in front of them was a perfect replica of Jonathan’s house. He turned around, all he saw was the end of the cul-de-sac, no graves, no blood, no forest, just nice suburban houses and well kept bushes.

“Holy shit we made it.”

Jonathan’s hand wrapped around his wrist and drug him towards the front door.

“Let’s get inside before that thing follows us here.”

“Do you think it can leave the forest MacAinsling made?”

Jonathan threw the door open and ushered him inside, closing it gingerly after them and latching the deadbolt lock.

“I don’t know, but dreams aren’t known for following rules.”

Sock glanced around. It wasn’t an exact mirror of Jonathan’s real house. They were shoes by the front door, kids shoes, and as Sock peered in the living room he could see the TV was on, currently showing a white screen. He guessed if he stopped to check every detail in MacAinsling’s book he’d find a lot of personal information about Jonathan, but that wasn’t what he was here for.

Beside him, Jonathan moved forward into the living room. As they entered the TV crackled with static for a moment before beginning to play some movie he didn’t know. The living room was different too. There were pillows and blankets piled on the couch like a nest and a lot more pictures of Jonathan’s family on the far wall. He felt like he was inside a game of Spot the Difference. However nothing stood out as the link they were looking for.

“Where do you think it is?”

Jonathan turned to glare at him.

“I don’t know, you know more about this than me.”

“Hey it’s  _ your  _ brain.” He scratched his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. “I don’t even know what to look for.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes and turned towards the kitchen door, Sock followed him through to the other room. The paint on the walls was nearly black, a far cry different from the cream color of the real thing, and rain pounded against the glass door and windows. 

“Huh.” Sock opened the book and flipped towards the interpretation chapter.

“What?” Jonathan turned from the rain to look at him.

“I think each of these rooms is a different part of your brain.” He flipped the book around so Jonathan could see it. “The living room was your relationship with your family, with all the pictures and the comfy bedding. The front hallway apparently signals a start to self exploration—which makes sense consider what we’re here for—and the kitchen is apparently about ‘emotional nourishment’.” He lowered the book so he could put air quotes around it. “The walls are black and it’s raining outside, meaning you don’t handle your emotions very well, Jonny-boy.” He grinned as Jonathan glared daggers across the room.

“Could you stop psychoanalyzing me and get to the point?”

“The  _ point  _ is that every room in the house probably has some similar weirdly specific meaning.” He waved his hands a little. “The link is something attached to you, so it’s probably in the place most personal to you.” Jonathan thought about that for a second.

“My room?”

Sock flipped through the pages and read the section aloud.

“‘The bedroom signifies aspects of the self they keep private or things they want to keep hidden.’ Sounds about right.” Sock snapped the book shut and opened the door back into the hallway gesturing for Jonathan to go through. Jonathan smirked at him.

“You’re kinda smart when you want to be.”

“Hey,” he let the door swing shut behind them, “I’m always smart, I’m just usually busy annoying you.

Jonathan reply was cut off as a distant howl broke through the silence. They looked at each other, playful atmosphere shattered. 

“Let’s go.”

They sprinted up the stairs.

Jonathan’s room was where it always was, second to the left next to the bathroom. They rushed inside and slammed the door shut. Jonathan hasilty locked it, not that it’d do much good. 

The first thing he noticed about the room was that it was just as much him as Jonathan. It was his hat hung up on one of the bed posts, his scarf in a pile of laundry, his collection of skulls on the shelf. It was very messy, there was stuff every which way, way worse than Jonathan usually let his room get.

“Uh…” Heat rose up the back of his neck as he rubbed it. “I think your room is your relationship with me.” He felt his face turn red as soon as the words were out of him mouth. Jonathan gaped at him a moment before glancing around the room again like it might be different. When it wasn’t he stared down at his feet for a moment before seeming to shake himself out of it.

“Doesn’t matter, we need to find that link.”

Together they tore through the piles of stuff, picking things up and just as quickly tossing them aside. 

Jonathan tossed an alarm clock against the wall where it shattered and feel to the floor with a crunch.

“What if it’s not in here?” He shouted.

“It’s gotta be!” Sock shoved his hands under a pile of clothing to topple it over to the side, there was nothing underneath it. “This room is your connection to me, where else would it be?” Neither of them mentioned the possibility that the link might be somewhere else entirely, tucked away in a dark corner of Jonathan’s mind completely out of their reach.

A loud crash from downstairs and the room shook. 

“It’s inside!”

Pumping with adrenaline Sock leapt to his feet and gave Jonathan’s dresser a few good shoves until it toppled over in front of the door.

“We need to find that link!”

“The only place we haven’t checked is the closet.” They bother turned towards the door. Sock blinked. Jonathan’s hair was being stirred, a low breeze picked up in the room.

“What the heck?” Before he could think about it more something slammed into the door with a loud crash. The wind picked up. The posters on the walls started to peel off and stray objects sent skittering across the room.

“What the hell is happening?” Jonathan shouted.

“MacAinsling doesn’t want us to find the link!” This was good, this meant they were on to something. Sock turned back towards the closet door and pushed closer, the wind pushed back. It blew harder, picking up debris and crashing through the room, almost frantic. Like MacAinsling was frantic. “Of course!” Sock shouted over the wind. “If we destroy the link he has no connection to the outside world! He’s not at full power he’ll get torn to shreds by your psyche!”

Jonathan tightened his grip against the desk, hair whipping around his face. Sock almost couldn’t hear him through the wind.

“Are you sure?”

It was a gamble. If he was wrong it would just lock MacAinsling in here with Jonathan and Sock would have no way to help him, but the closer they got to the closet door the more the wind picked up.

“Why else would he be trying so hard to keep us from doing it?” 

Jonathan was silent for a second, but they didn’t have long to consider this. Sock risked a glance back to the door of the room, the paint was starting to peel off and the wood bowed with every impact.

“We still don’t even know what it is!”

But they knew where it was.

Sock reached forward, grasped the handle and turned it. The door swung open, slammed against the wall by the heavy wind. Inside was more junk, nothing that looked like a link. Beside him Jonathan growled.

“This is impossible! It’s gonna get in we don’t have time for this!” Sock was about to agree when something caught his eye.

Jonathan’s purple headphones hanging on a hook above everything else. The same headphone’s head offered Sock the week they met. 

That’s it.

“ _ Jonathan! _ Jonathan it’s the headphones they’re-” The words were cut off with a strangled choke as a hand wrapped itself around his throat and yanked him off his feet. He choked and clawed at the hand holding him as his feet scrabbled for purchase. The hand just squeezed tighter and the burning eyes of Damien MacAinsling swung into view.

“You should have just let it go,” he hissed. “There would have been other souls to haunt, other humans to crush on, but you couldn’t let it go.” Sock gripped MacAinsling’s wrist trying to bring some leverage back but it didn’t work. “Do you  _ know  _ what it takes for most demons to get to this position? How much  _ torture  _ it involves? You got a free pass to slide by all that just because the boss likes you?” Sock could barely focus on his words. He could see the headphones past MacAinsling, but he couldn’t get free- he couldn’t- “You don’t  _ get  _ to pass all that by. I’m going to teach you those lessons even if I have to drag you back to hell myself!”

MacAinsling’s hand tightened around his throat and the wind stung his eyes, through the tears filming over his vision he could see the headphones sitting there, so close. There was a burst of sound, cracking wood, the monster was through, and all he could think was that he was going to die again. He didn’t know what happened to demons if they died but it probably wasn’t good. Jonathan was going to die and go wherever his soul was meant to go and they’d never see each other again. 

Something sailed past MacAinsling’s ear and crashed into the set of headphones, knocking them off the hook and out of sight. Immediately the hand around his throat receded and he fell to the floor, coughing and gagging, wiping the tears from his eyes. A single shoe sat next to the broken headphones. Jonathan’s shoe. 

Blue light began to shine through the cracks in the headphones, growing brighter and brighter by the second. A strangled noise forced his head up. MacAinsling had fallen back against the wall, blue light cracked out from beneath his skin mirroring the broken link. The wind stopped, the monster fell quiet and MacAinsling screamed, then darkness enveloped everything once more.

There was the feeling of falling again. He was falling back to reality through Jonathan’s mind. He didn’t see Jonathan. He didn’t see anything. He tried to shout but either he couldn't or it was snatched away by the darkness rushing past him. He could feel himself being pulled apart. Without MacAinsling’s support he wasn’t strong enough to make it out of Jonathan’s mind. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying his best to hold himself together. Just when everything was reaching a crescendo and he felt like he would be torn to pieces he blacked out.

\---

Slowly, thoughts crept back into his aching head. The first one being ‘apparently demons can black out.’ He groaned and gentle movement beside him caught his attention.

“You okay?” That was Jonathan’s voice.

He opened his eyes. Jonathan’s blue eyes floated directly in front of him laced with concern. He smiled.

“I didn’t die again, so I think I’m good.”

A small smile spread across Jonathan’s face and he reached up to run his thumb across Sock’s cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

“We did it.”

“Yeah, we did it,” Jonathan answered. “Now stay the  _ fuck  _ out of my dreams.” There was no actual anger behind the words this time and Sock laughed, more out of relief than anything, and sat up.

\---

Jonathan skipped school that day. Instead they spent it sprawled on the couch watching movies, eating popcorn and just… talking. No more dream haunting, no Damien MacAinsling, just them. It was nice. He wanted it to stay like this. When the end credits rolled Jonathan got up to make popcorn, he stopped and turned back.

“Hey, Sock?”

Sock looked up at him, not bothering to uncurled from his comfortable position sprawled over the back of the couch.

“Hm?”

Jonathan shook his head and chuckled, then leaned down press a kiss against Sock’s forehead. Sock fell off the back of the couch. Jonathan laughed and left through the kitchen door.

Sock watched him leave with a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Wow, Kid, color me impressed.” Sock spun around. Mephistopheles was leaning against the doorway, arms tucked and one ankle crossed neatly over the other. “MacAinsling’s a tough guy to take down.”

Whatever passed as Sock’s heart these days squeezed inside his chest as a slice of fear cut through him. 

“Are you- Am I in trouble?” He asked, trying to keep his voice from breaking. Meph just laughed.

“Oh no.” He waved a hand passively and pushed himself off the wall. “MacAinsling brought that on himself. I made rules about one demon per human counterpart for a reason. There’s always a fight.” Sock sighed in relief, hoping it wasn’t too obvious how scared he’d been. 

“Then why are you here?”

Meph shrugged, moving forward to pat Sock on the shoulder.

“Well, I just thought I’d check up on you. It’s not every day a newby fights an old timer and lives to tell the tale.” A little surge of pride welled up inside him, Mephistopheles hand on his shoulder felt like a victory, in a way he couldn’t quite define. “And by the way, I only want his soul eventually, what you do with him in the meantime is your business.” The knowing look in his eye was off-putting, but he meant well, Sock could feel it.

“Thanks, Meph.”

“Keep up the good work, kiddo.” And with that he was gone.  

Sock looked back at the kitchen door. Whatever he wants in the meantime, he could deal with that.


End file.
